


Solace

by Persiflage



Series: Bondkink Fics [26]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Quantum of Solace (2008)
Genre: Age Difference, Companionable Snark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Missing Scene, Older Woman/Younger Man, Prompt Fic, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 19:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mitchell's revealed to be a traitor, M refuses to have a bodyguard, so Bond volunteers for the role until M can find someone else she trusts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the bondkink comm on LJ. The prompt was _Craig!Bond/Dench!M, QoS missing scene; mutual h/c. After their return from Italy, M's forced to stay in a safe house for a couple of days while Q-Branch thoroughly checks over M's home to ensure Mitchell hasn't compromised it. Bond and M find themselves unexpectedly drawn to each other for mutual comfort after recent events (Bond losing Vesper, M discovering Mitchell's treachery). Bonus points for some mutual snarking between them before they can let down their guard sufficiently to actually have sex._  
>  Spoiler: Quantum of Solace  
> Disclaimer: I'm waiting for someone to give me this!

"What are you going to do about a bodyguard now?" Bond asks M on the flight back from Italy to London.

"Nothing," she answers flatly, continuing to stare out of the window beside her seat even though there's nothing to see except clouds.

"Ma'am?" 

"I don't trust anyone. I can't trust anyone." She turns to give him a brief look and he sees betrayal and anger in her eyes before she resumes staring at the clouds.

"But – " Bond begins.

"You heard what Mr White said," she interrupts. "They, whoever they are, have got people everywhere. Six could be full of traitors."

He wants to hold her to comfort her, but he's fairly sure that she'll shrug him off if he makes the attempt, so he says the first thing that comes to mind. "Mitchell tried to kill me."

She snorts. "Practically everyone tries to kill you sooner or later, Bond." 

"Yes, but what I mean is, Mitchell tried to kill me, therefore you know I'm not a traitor. Unless, of course, you think it was an elaborate bluff?"

She turns her head again, sharp blue eyes staring at him. "What are you talking about Bond?"

"I'll be your bodyguard – just until you decide who you can trust to do the job."

She sighs. "Very well."

He settles back against his seat, satisfied by her agreement. He hasn't forgotten the way fear clenched his stomach when Mitchell had tried to kill M while they were interrogating White, nor the chill of apprehension he'd felt run down his spine when he'd got back to the chamber under the Piazza del Campo and found White was missing. He'd worried that the man had caught up with M and taken her hostage, and his sense of relief when he'd retreated to their prearranged RV and found her waiting for him had momentarily left him with weak knees.

007-007-007

Tanner meets them in London, and informs M that Q-Branch is going over very inch of her home with microscopic thoroughness, therefore he's arranged for her to stay at a safe house for a day or two until her home is declared clean.

She gives Tanner a sour look. "Oh, all right. I suppose I can understand why, but I don't have to like it. And don't look at me like that Mr Tanner: you are not a puppy and I haven't just kicked you."

Bond hides a smile because Tanner does have a kicked-puppy look about him.

"Bond's going to be acting as my bodyguard until I decide who to appoint in Mitchell's place, so we'll need to stop off at his flat to pick up some things. Has Q-Branch cleared anything of mine?"

"Not yet, ma'am," Tanner says, after a brief glance at Bond, who's now playing the impassive sort. "I'll make sure someone comes round with whatever you want as soon as it's been cleared."

"Yes, all right, I've got the things I had when I went to Italy, that will have to suffice for now." She waves this away. "What about Mitchell's flat? Found anything yet?"

"Not yet, ma'am. Q is going through his electronics, but so far everything seems to be clean."

"I want to go over there myself," M says. She turns to Bond. "Go in the staff car and pick up your things to take to the safe house."

"But ma'am – " Bond begins, objecting to the fact that she's sending him away already. 

"I'll be safe enough with Mr Tanner," she snaps, "unless you think _he_ is also working for Mr White's group?"

"No ma'am," Bond says woodenly, knowing it's useless to argue when she's in this mood. He notes that Tanner looks quite nervous at the prospect, but he can't spare much sympathy for him.

007-007-007

They leave Mitchell's flat together, and Bond insists on driving the Range Rover to the safe house, consigning the driver to the back seat beside M. Neither of them appears to relish the arrangement, but he's in no mood to indulge M. If he's going to be her bodyguard then he intends to take the job seriously, and he knows that he's a better driver than anyone else in the Service, particularly when it comes to making quick getaways.

They arrive safely, however, and Bond deputises the driver to bring in their bags from the boot while he ushers M inside.

"Stay there," he tells her, gesturing to a spot in the middle of the hallway. She sighs heavily, but he ignores her as he goes to check each of the ground floor rooms is clear. 

"We're clear downstairs," he says returning to the hall just as the driver comes in with their bags. "Leave them there." He gestures with his gun to a spot beside M, and the driver gives first him, then M, an uncertain glance.

"Do as he says please, Edwards," M says.

"Ma'am." Edwards deposits the bags, gives her a nod, then goes out while Bond goes upstairs to check the rooms there.

When he returns to the ground floor, M is sitting on his case looking thoroughly fed up. 

"Finished?" she asks, her tone pointed.

"Yes ma'am. You can go upstairs now." He picks up her bag and slings it over one shoulder, before grabbing his own case as soon as M stands up. He follows her up the stairs. "I recommend you take the bedroom at the back, as there's no way an intruder can easily reach it."

She sighs, then walks into the bedroom he's suggested and he sets her bag on the floor by the double bed, then crosses the landing to put his things in the room at the front of the house. 

He's just finishing putting his clothes away when M appears in the doorway. 

"I'm going to have a bath," she says. "I feel filthy."

"Very well. Do you want me to cook?"

"Can you?" One eyebrow is raised quizzically.

"Of course," he says, surprised she should have to ask.

"I've no idea what food you'll find."

"Well I'm sure Tanner organised for the kitchen to be stocked up, so I daresay there's something edible."

She gives a curt nod, then disappears, and a few moments later he hears the bathroom door shut. He makes his way downstairs and into the kitchen; opening the fridge door he sees fresh pasta, salmon, and vegetables on the shelves, together with milk, fruit juice, cheese, butter, a bottle of Rosé wine, and a chocolate cheesecake which he happens to know is M's favourite. He smiles, pleased that Tanner's decided to stock up on comfort food, and begins his preparations.

The salmon is baking in the oven, and the pasta and vegetables are just beginning to simmer when M reappears. She's wearing what passes as casual clothes for her: meaning that she still looks as if she's about to go off to the City, rather than preparing to spend an evening at home with her Double-O bodyguard.

"Don't you sometimes just lounge around in your pyjamas?" he asks as she comes in and sits at the table. 

One eyebrow arches up. "You know, Bond, you ask some quite ridiculous questions at times."

"And you have mastered the knack of the evasive answer to absolute perfection," he says. "Wine?"

"What are you cooking?"

"Baked salmon with fresh pasta and vegetables," he says. "The wine's a very passable Rosé."

This earns him rolled eyes, and a huff of what he realises, after a moment, is amusement. She goes to the fridge, then stares at the cheesecake.

"Did you put him up to this?"

"No ma'am." 

She makes a noise which sounds like 'harrumph', then takes out a bottle of apple and pear juice, and pours herself a half glass. "I don't want to drink wine before I eat," she tells him when he quirks an eyebrow at her.

"There's Scotch and brandy in the cupboard," he tells her.

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Bond?" she asks.

"Would it help if I did?"

She snorts. "No. I'm a maudlin drunk. You wouldn't appreciate me in that state."

He smirks. "I don't believe I would. I much prefer you fiery and argumentative."

"I'm not argumentative," she says immediately.

He grins. "Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

Bond laughs aloud, then turns back to the cooker to stir the pasta. She swats his arm as she comes to peer into the saucepans, and he can't resist the urge to lift his arm and put it around her shoulders. To his immense surprise she doesn’t immediately pull away, but instead leans against him for a moment. He makes himself hold off from ducking his head to kiss her – he suspects that will earn him a slap, or worse. He guesses that the momentary contact is only a temporary concession to her feelings of dislocation and distrust for others after the day they've had.

007-007-007

Dinner is eaten in a leisurely manner, and they talk shop over the first course, but when Bond brings M a plate with a generous portion of the cheesecake on it she gets grumpy.

"I'm not eating that."

He lifts an eyebrow. "But it's your favourite," he says. "I'd have thought you would have been looking forward to it."

She shakes her head. "Eating that would be pure self-indulgence."

"After the past 36 hours, indulging yourself long enough to eat a piece of cheesecake seems not only acceptable, but perfectly understandable." Bond can't comprehend her reluctance.

She folds her arms across her chest and glares at him, which makes him chuckle. "I bet you had just that face when you got a cob on as a child."

"007, are you accusing me of sulking?"

"Well, ma'am, if the cap fits – " He smirks, then holds out the plate.

She practically snatches it from him and bangs it down in front of herself, then picks up her fork. "I am eating this under protest."

Bond laughs. "I really can't think why. Who do you think I'm going to tell?"

She takes her first mouthful, and he watches, fascinated, as her expression softens and she obviously savours it. He finds himself becoming aroused by the sensual way she eats the dessert because it's quite obvious that she's completely oblivious to the effect she's having on him.

As she licks the fork clean a final time, Bond drops his gaze and lets out his breath in a silent exhalation of relief. When he looks up again, however, she's watching him intently and something glimmers in those sharp blue eyes that makes him suspect she's guessed what's happened. Fortunately she chooses not to comment on it, and begins clearing the table. 

"I'll wash, you wipe," she tells him, carrying the empty crockery across to the counter by the sink.

"There's a dishwasher," he says. He has to wait a few more moments before he dares to get up, just long enough to ensure his erection has subsided sufficiently to walk.

"Coffee?"

He shakes his head. "I think I'll go and grab a shower before bed." He wonders if he's imagining the disappointed look in her eyes, but she turns away and begins loading the dishwasher before he can be sure.

"Very well. Goodnight Bond."

"Night, ma'am."

He's showered and changed into dark clothing by the time he hears her come upstairs. He waits, leaning against the wall beside the window, while she goes through her nightly routine. Then, when he's sure she's settled in bed, he picks up the plain wooden chair from the corner of his room and carries it out onto the landing. He puts it outside her door, then settles himself for the night ahead. Realistically he doesn't believe White will send someone after them, but it's far better to be safe than sorry.

007-007-007

M wakes soon after one o'clock and groans silently. She is quite used to sleeping less now than when she was younger, but she'd hoped to manage more than two hours sleep. She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling: an unfamiliar bed in a strange house in a part of London she doesn't know certainly isn't conducive to a good night's sleep. With a sigh she sits up and turns on the bedside light, deciding to go and make a drink, assuming Tanner has provided something that's not going to keep her awake. She shuffles her feet into her slippers and crosses the room, opens the door, then stands, staring, at the sight of Bond sitting on a chair, blocking her doorway.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" she demands as he springs to his feet.

"Keeping watch," he says.

She snorts. "And what use will you be to me tomorrow, doped up on caffeine and whatever you can persuade the medical officer to give you by way of stimulating drugs?" She smacks his arm, and he gives her a shocked look. "You stupid boy. I need a bodyguard who's fully rested, alert, and ready for anything."

She glances down as she says this, an unconscious gesture which she belatedly realises is a bit too revealing of her innermost thoughts. She looks back up into his face, and sees that Bond has noticed the direction of her gaze. Before she can speak he shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers and pulls the material tight across his crotch.

"Like what you see, ma'am?" he asks, with a leer. 

"What if I do?" she demands sharply, if a little breathlessly, because there's no doubt that he is aroused and that he's not lacking in any way. "I doubt a boy like you could cope with my needs."

"There's only one way you'll find out," he says.

"Really, James, as come-ons go, that's limp." She is practically trembling with anticipation, but she's trying not to show him just how much she wants this.

"This isn't," he retorts, clasping her wrist and tugging her hand to his crotch. He's right, of course: his cock is very hard, and very large, pressing firmly against the front of his trousers. 

As soon as she touches him, he puts a hand on the back of her neck, steadying her head as his mouth descends on hers. He kisses her hard, his tongue plunging between her lips and she finds herself clutching at his arms to prevent herself from falling over. 

He begins to back her into her bedroom, and she allows him. They have to pull apart for air, and he immediately begins unbuttoning her red silk pyjama top, so she reaches for the light switch. 

He catches hold of her wrist and says softly, "Don't."

"But – " she begins.

"M, you don't have to hide anything from me." He puts his arms around her and draws her closer, cradling her body against his. "Do you think I don't know how old you are? That I don't know that age and gravity mean that your body is no longer quite as firm as it once was?" His fingertips slide down her spine. "Let me tell you a secret, M: I've fancied you the whole time I've known you, but you're more beautiful to me now than you were twenty-odd years ago."

"You're just saying that," she says, but she's not absolutely certain – his tone is sincere.

He pulls back and puts his hands on her shoulders. "No, I'm not. I want you very much, and I want to see you."

She sighs. "Very well."

"Good." He kisses her less hungrily this time, and unfastens her buttons, then eases the pyjama top off her shoulders and down her arms. He kisses her throat, then along her collar bone as his hands come up to cradle her breasts.

"Let's get comfortable," he says, and backs her up to the bed.

She lets him slip off her pyjama trousers, then she reaches for his shirt buttons and begins undressing him. She's not surprised to find he doesn't bother with underwear once she gets his trousers off nor that she can barely wrap her hand around his stiff prick.

He hisses and she looks up at him to see his blue eyes are dark with lust. "I must warn you," he says in a low voice, "that I won't last long if you keep manhandling me."

"Then you'd better do something to help me get ready," she says. Seeing his confused expression she elaborates, "I've been through the menopause, James, so unlike your usual conquests, I don't get wet quickly or easily. If you've got some lube, you'll need to use it."

He flushes, to her amusement. "I don't carry it around with me."

"No? You surprise me."

"What do you suggest?"

"Well rumour has it that you're a cunning linguist, James, so why don't you see if you can live up to your reputation?"

He gives her a wicked grin, then scoops her up and drops her onto the middle of the bed, before easing her legs apart. He stretches out on his stomach and ducks his head to kiss her clit, before dragging his tongue up the length of her slit. She finds herself clutching at the bedding and forces herself to let go again, but not for long as Bond proves that his reputation is very well deserved. She gasps, moans and writhes as his tongue and fingers work inside her pussy to drive her to an intense orgasm. She ends up clutching his head and pressing his face to her as she comes, and dimly registers the fact that he's continuing to lick and stroke her through the aftershocks.

As M's grip on his head relaxes, Bond pushes himself upwards sufficiently to crawl up the bed beside her.

"All right?" he asks, and she looks up at him, her expression dazed and he can't help feeling the tiniest bit smug.

"Yes," she breathes.

"Good." He leans down to kiss her languorously, then shifts his body over hers. He guides his achingly hard prick into her pussy, sliding inside slowly and carefully: she's tight and he knows his cock's big, and whatever else he wants tonight, hurting her is not on the agenda.

"Christ James!" she mutters and he pauses, giving her a worried look.

"Too much?"

"No, god, no, don't stop."

He resumes, pausing again once he's fully sheathed inside her. "You feel so good," he murmurs, pressing butterfly-light kisses to her eyelids and cheeks before slipping his tongue into her mouth.

"So do you."

"Mmm." He begins to withdraw, not quite as slowly as he penetrated her, but still at a leisurely pace. Her pussy is so hot and tight around his swollen prick that he's in no rush to thrust. 

M wraps her legs around his, then slips an arm around his neck to pull his head down. "Fuck me, James, please." She nips at his earlobe, and he almost yelps in shock.

"Christ, woman!" He hears her chuckle and lifts his head to stare down at her. 

"Did you think I'd just lie here passively?" she demands.

He snorts. "You've never been passive in your life."

"Exactly. Now fuck me, James." She says it in her sternest tone, and he can't help groaning as he begins to thrust properly. "Good boy."

He wonders if she has any idea how much harder she makes him when she uses that bossy manner on him.

007-007-007

Afterwards they lie in a sweaty tangle for several minutes, both of them trying to catch their breath again. Bond wraps his arms around M and rolls them over so that he won't crush her since she's so much smaller than him. 

"This can't change anything between us," she says quietly, her head tucked under his chin. "I'm sorry about that, but – "

"M," he interrupts her. "I understand. You're married, and you're my superior. If you want to pretend this never happened, then it's fine. I won't mention it, ever."

She lifts her head and he sees sparks of anger in her blue eyes. "I do _not_ want to pretend it never happened," she says firmly. "I don't regret what we've just done. Christ, James, do you have _any_ idea how bloody jealous of Vesper I was?"

He gives her a startled look. "What?"

"I was jealous of Vesper," she says, her tone defiant. "I wanted to the one bumming around the world with you, not her, some woman you'd barely known for five minutes."

"I had no idea," he says, feeling dazed by this revelation.

She snorts. "Of course not, it would've been completely unprofessional for me to say anything. I probably shouldn't have told you, even now. Not so soon after you lost her." She ducks her head, then starts to pull herself away from him, but he tightens his arms around her to keep her in place.

"Don't," he whispers, "please don't." She stills and he puts a hand under her chin to lift her face. "I'm glad you told me. Even if we never do this again after tonight, I'm _very_ glad to have had this with you."

He kisses her tenderly, feeling strangely moved by her revelation. He'd never once suspected that she felt anything but exasperation for him, he hadn't even dared to think she was fond of him in her way. 

"Don't for one minute imagine that this information is going to affect the way I treat you at work," she says. 

He laughs softly. "M, you're the consummate professional, I know that. I do think, though, that maybe you should've kept your confession to yourself. After all this means I now know that no matter how pissed off you are with me, a tiny corner of you cares about me."

"That's always been true, you silly boy," she says immediately. "If I didn't care about you, I'd get less pissed off with your antics."

"Then I shall endeavour to piss you off less in future."

She gives a disbelieving snort at this, and he pretends to be offended, which results in M mocking him until he starts tickling her, and she nearly falls out of the bed trying to get away from him.

"God, how old are you?" she asks after he's grabbed her and hauled her back to safety.

"Asks the woman who's been taking the piss out of me," he retorts.

She sticks her tongue at him, exactly as if she's six, and he laughs, then kisses her quick and hard. 

"Do you feel better now?" 

"Better?"

"Less stressed. You were wound so tight earlier, after we discovered Mitchell's treachery."

She sighs softly as she shifts to lie on her side. "I was, and yes, I feel less stressed now."

"Good." He moves so that he can spoon up behind her, slipping his arms around her midriff and nuzzling her neck. "We should get some sleep."

"Mmm." She settles her arms over his, lacing the fingers of her right hand through his, and he feels absurdly content.

Ten minutes later, M's sound asleep in his arms, and he can feel himself drifting into sleep too. His last coherent thought is that the past 24 hours have been very interesting.


End file.
